Tourniquet
by mollipwarriorchic
Summary: "No matter how much it hurt...it felt good." My entry for 2013 Bullying Awareness Contest. One-shot. Very closely tied with my story "Rumors"-but not really. WARNING: CHARACTER SUICIDE


Chapter 1

"Hey there you ugly wretch!" I clutched my book to my chest, trying to hold in the tears. Torture torture torture. All she did was torture me. She _had_ to make me cry,_ had_ to make me suffer, _had_ to make me hate myself. What kind of fun did she get out of this? It was disgusting, really. It took all of my willpower not to cry my eyes out. Not to…just run away.

"What do you want?" My voice was mousy and pathetic as I spun around to face her. Snarled mouth, teasing eyes and hands on hips. Your standard mean girl.

Kitten Moth is evil. Mean. Awful. Just an overall mean girl. he loves to make other people feel like crap. Whether it be me or Kori or Karen, she has to make us feel bad in some way. Doesn't matter if it's about my past, or Kori's speech patterns, or Karen's ethnicity. Some things we can't help about ourselves. Some things we can't change. It could be sexuality or gender-identity or something as little as your first name, she must make you feel bad about yourself. And I hated her for that. Why should you make other people feel terrible about themselves just so you can feel better? That made no sense. And it's not like she has any real friends either; just three drones who only hang out with her so they won't get burned.

"Nothing much. Oh what's that?" I turned my head like an idiot, only to have her slap the books out of my hand. Real original Kitten. Real original.

"I don't know Kitten." I sneered. There was rage bubbling up inside of me. Not because of her silly little book slap. Oh no, no, no. It was because of everything. The harassment. The abuse. The rudeness. Everything about her is just…catty-pun not intended.

"Well, it looks like your mother. Nothing important or to be cared about or taken seriously and de-" That was it. I lunged at her, grabbing her and wrestling her to the ground. I couldn't take it anymore. You know how much it hurts to be tormented your whole entire life? To be told that you're ugly by your own grandmother? To be told that you'll never amount to anything by your father? To be left alone in this world by your own mother? It hurt so badly…and Kitten was only adding gasoline to the fire.

"You stupid bitch! I don't want to have to deal with your bullying or your rudeness or your abuse! Got me? You've been nothing but bitchy since I met you! You've been a ruthless, catty, gossiping bitch and you…you…" I couldn't even get out the words I was so angry. I planted slaps across her face, leaving good red marks. Tears were pouring down in gallons but I really didn't care. This was my way of letting go.

"Get off me you stupid-"

"And that's another thing! Stop calling me stupid! My GPA is higher than yours will ever be and you know it!" I kept on going, enduring the pathetic little slaps that she gave me back. They were nothing. Nothing that compared to the raw pain I was feeling inside.

"Shut up Rachel! Get off of me!" She dug her claws- er, fingernails- into my arm and I winced. Her fingernails were really sharp. That's because they were fake.

"You know how much you've hurt me, Kitten? Well this is how I'm going to hurt you! To show you how it feels to be brutally tortured your life!" She didn't know how it felt at all. She'd had the easy life; a rich and loving father, an adoring stepmother, a wonderful boyfriend. Frankly, she didn't deserve any of it. Not one bit. If she wasn't going to be nice and thankful for what she has…she doesn't deserve it at all.

"You've never been brutally tortured you freaking liar! Your life is as easy as mine!" I exploded. She was really clueless wasn't she? I'm surprised she hadn't heard the millions of rumors going around about me and my home life. About my father's abuse. About my mother's…suicide.

"You don't know anything, Kitten. You know my parents are probably both dead by now?" It was true. My father was a heavy drinker. He would have died from alcohol poisoning by now, at the rate he was drinking the last time I saw him.

"I really don't care. Can't you just get off of me?" She screeched, kicking her Gucci heels in protest.

"You'll never know anything Kitten." I took one last sigh before I got off of her, seeing the faces of my uncles and a disappointed Principal Wilson, his arms crossed against his chest.

* * *

I'm crying. Like, really crying. On my bed right know, crying my eyes out. I feel like I'm going to throw up my lower intestines. Hopefully I'll die, passed out, right there on my bedroom floor. Nobody will miss me, though; they'll probably be happy to see me go. Maybe even throw a party, I wouldn't be surprised.

"Rachel? Rachel dear?" Phil knocked on my door. I scowled at the door. Since we lived in Gotham and not Jump, where I used to live, Phil would never be my uncle. And I hated that. I hated it so much.

"Go away!" I screamed, throwing a textbook at the door. I could hear footsteps in the other direction. So what, I was rude? I didn't care. That was who I was. And I hated it.

I hate a lot of things in this world. I hate mean girls, Kitten, bullies, and politicians. But the thing that I hate the most? Myself. Why did my hair have to be so choppy? Why was I born with strange birthmarks on my body, a jewel shape on my forehead and strange emblems on my back? Why must I like to read so much? Why can't I be like other girls? Why can't I want to play sports or aspire to be something? I just wanted to be me, Rachel? Why can't I ever be normal? Those were some questions I asked myself on a daily basis. Why couldn't I hurt? Why couldn't I bleed? Well, I could. And I will. I kept a giant knife under my bed for perks. It was a nice, long blade actually, sheening off the light coming in through my window. It was long and gray, I bought it from a department store for the purpose of self-hurt.

"Mmm…" I groaned as I pressed the long blade into my wrist. It felt so…good. All of my troubles trickled away as the blood did, onto my clean white sheets to stain them. The smell of blood was inducing, although it took me a while to get used to the smell. The look of it dripping out of me made me cringe, but the thought and the goal was worth it. Everything in moderation. I had to take long breaths to keep up with the blood loss. But it still felt good, even though I was beginning to feel lightheaded. As the blade went deeper my groans got louder, becoming louder and louder as more blood trickled down. No matter how much it hurt it still felt good. My life was a pit of hell and this was the only goodness I could feel. The only thing I had to look forward to was hurting myself. There were scars up and down my arms and legs, marking my pain and anguish over the years. I'd started to cut myself in elementary school, 4th grade actually. When my very small group of friends began to worry, noticing my long sleeves and long pants, I pushed them away. Nobody could know my dirty little secret. Absolutely nobody except for me.

The deeper the blade went, the more I knew what I had to do. I had to do it. I had to seal the deal. To go all the way through. To take my mother's path in life. I had to kill myself.

It's not like I have anything to live for; everyone hates me. I'm so alone in this world. I don't have any friends, I have a little bit of family, and I only have one thing I love. Hurting myself. So in order to give myself the most pain I could ever experience, I had to do it. End my miserable life right here and now. Kitten's bullying made everything worse, made it absolutely unbearable. I had to stop it. I had to. I just had to. So I took the blade out of my wrist, marveling in the sound my flesh made and the blood dripping off of the blade as I lifted it, and brought it closer to my neck. Right before it punctured my trachea, I noticed a bottle of antidepressants sitting on my dresser. Perfect. If the throat didn't work then they had to.

"Goodbye." I squeaked, tears streaming down my face as I pressed it into my trachea. It hurt so badly as I choked on my blood. It clotted, though, breaking off my circulation. And I fell limp onto my hardwood floor, life gone and spirit renewed.

* * *

_Suicide is a really serious matter, there are some things that you don't joke about. D__o you notice that I didn't joke around like my normal drabble-y crap? __Until the story gets serious, at least. Review and Favorite. Grammar Nazis and Flamers welcome. _


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